


Air

by tastewithouttalent



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: Asphyxiation, Dominance, Established Relationship, M/M, Mirror Sex, No Plot/Plotless, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sparring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-01
Updated: 2014-01-03
Packaged: 2018-01-07 01:19:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1113809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“‘I’d smash you into the floor in a matter of seconds, it wouldn’t be much of a fight.’” Justin asks Giriko for help and Giriko is persuaded to oblige.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Cheating

“You want to spar.”

Justin nods, like he hasn’t just made the most ridiculous request Giriko has yet heard in a long line of absurd statements. “That’s the idea.” He shrugs, angles his shoulder back like he’s trying to crack pressure out of a joint. “It’s been a while since I had someone who could present a challenge. And it’s important to stay in practice, or at least I’ve found that to be so.”

Giriko is flat on the couch, staring up at Justin while the priest leans over him to block the light. “You want to spar with  _me_.”

Justin blinks and nods again, slowly this time, like he’s not sure Giriko’s getting the point. “In the absence of anyone else in the room to whom I could conceivably be speaking, yes, with you.”

“You weigh like a hundred pounds soaking wet,” Giriko scoffs. “I’d smash you into the floor in a matter of seconds, it wouldn’t be much of a fight.”

Justin raises one yellow eyebrow and his mouth quirks at the corner. “We have rather different opinions on that.”

“You think I  _wouldn’t_?” Giriko asks. He unfolds his arms from behind his head and pushes up onto his elbows. “What, you’d break out your fancy Death Weapon moves on me?”

Justin looks up and away and laughs short and amused. “That would be cheating, don’t you think? No, no weapon forms at all. Seems fair enough, doesn’t it?”

Giriko scoffs. “Not particularly. I’m not gonna fight you, I’d take you to pieces in a minute flat.”

“Hm.” Justin straightens from his angle over the couch, shrugs one-shouldered. “I thought it was a matter of seconds? But if you don’t feel up to it, I guess I’ll just have to make do on my own.”

Giriko knows he’s being needled. He’s not a genius but it doesn’t take one to recognize the deliberately put-upon tone in Justin’s voice, the overdone sigh he heaves as he turns away. And the chainsaw’s half-asleep; having a fight, even a quick one, is the last thing he wants to do right now. But he does hesitate, and his eyes follow Justin as the priest starts to walk away. The blond’s in loose sweatpants and a t-shirt, giving every impression of someone about to have a quick workout, but as he’s moving the sweatpants cling in a way they shouldn’t be able to, and the shirt’s pretty thin, opaque for now but if it were to get damp, with sweat say, and if Giriko takes him out he’d probably have to straddle him in order to keep him down, with Justin’s arms up above his head maybe, and --

“Wait.”

Justin stops dead, tips his head to glance back over his shoulder so his whole body twists in a way that shouldn’t be possible for anyone with a spine. “Yes?”

Giriko rolls off the couch to land on his feet and comes around the corner, deliberately cracking his neck and rolling his shoulders back. “Can’t have you training on your own.”

Justin’s eyes flicker up and down the chainsaw’s body and he smiles to himself before turning back around to lead the way. “Oh?”

“Yeah.” Giriko falls into step behind him, just over his shoulder where Justin can hear him breathing but can’t see the other weapon. “Gotta make sure we’re clear on who’s better in a fight.”

Justin laughs without turning. He appears entirely unfazed by Giriko’s positioning. “We  _should_  clarify that, shouldn’t we.”

He takes them down the hall to the training room, rarely used by Giriko but frequented on a semi-regular basis by the priest. Giriko takes stock of the open space, the equipment pushed up against the walls and clear of the main floor, and kicks his boots off to abandon them by the doorway before following Justin to the center of the floor.

The priest eyes his jeans and white shirt. “Do you want to change?”

“Nah.” Giriko hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his pants and grins. “I can kick your ass just as well in this as in some fancy clothes.”

Justin gives that lopsided shrug again. “Suit yourself.” He steps back so there’s a few feet of space between them and squares himself up with the chainsaw. “No weapon forms at any point.”

“What’re we going to?” Giriko asks. He doesn’t move his hands but he does shift his feet to balance his weight over his legs.

“Until one party surrenders the fight.”

Giriko rocks back on his heels, opens his mouth to protest, then thinks better of it. “Yeah, okay.”

Justin comes up onto the balls of his feet, shifts his weight from one side to the other, and raises his hands in front of him. “Ready?”

“Sure.” Giriko is moving as he agrees, one stride forward to span the space between them and swinging with his right hand to slam into Justin’s ribcage. The priest slides back without blinking at the sudden movement, pivoting on his foot so Giriko’s hit goes entirely wide, and the chainsaw has to take another step forward to catch his balance. Justin turns as quickly as he does so they’re facing each other again, hands still up in front of him and face perfectly relaxed.

“Was that your best shot?” he asks.

Giriko frowns and rolls his shoulders back. “Just warming up.” He comes in again, but this time he sees Justin trying that same twist again, reaches out with his left to grab the priest’s upraised wrist. Justin grimaces, snaps his arm down, and Giriko’s hold goes loose without him quite seeing how. Justin brings his other elbow around to swing, but it goes wild and just clips Giriko’s shoulder without really offering any lasting impact.

They both draw back again, Giriko glaring now. “What the fuck was that?”

Justin raises his eyebrows. “Did you expect me to just let you grab me?” They both come in this time, stepping forward with left feet like there’s a mirror between them, but Giriko swings high and Justin comes in low, ducking so Giriko’s fist clears the top of his head while his own lands solid against the chainsaw’s chest. Giriko grunts at the impact but doesn’t pull back, snaps his other hand around to take a shot at the priest’s shoulder. Justin pivots back from that too, but not far enough to clear it completely so it’s a glancing blow instead of a full hit.

“You’re not really trying,” Justin observes. He sounds as calm as if they’re having a regular conversation rather than raising bruises on each other. “Why are you holding back?”

Giriko growls and grabs at Justin’s incoming arm -- he’s trying the elbow again, but the chainsaw closes his fingers around Justin’s upper arm and stalls out the movement. “You  _want_  me to break your pretty face?”

Justin laughs and twists around Giriko’s hold so the chainsaw’s fingers bend back and he lets go involuntarily. “I didn’t expect to find chivalry in  _you_  of all people.”

“Yeah, well.” Giriko shifts his weight to one side as Justin drives an elbow into the curve of his back. He takes the hit, exhales hard with the impact, but stays where he is. “I wouldn’t call it chivalry, exactly.” The priest steps back in front of him and he swings onto one foot, brings his other up to snap out sharp and hard. He knows it’s going to connect even before he feels the give of muscle under his foot and hears Justin’s pained exhale. “More consideration for the future.” He drops his off foot to the ground and pivots around it to swing his other leg up and at the priest; Justin has to stumble backward to clear the kick, and he nearly falls before he can get his feet under him. “You’re a lot prettier without bruises on that face.”

“Aww,” Justin manages. He sounds breathless, but when Giriko steps in to swing a fist at his solar plexus he catches the hit with one hand and snaps his other out to slam against the chainsaw’s shoulder. “I thought you  _liked_ marking me.”

Giriko laughs and twists his hand around to trade Justin’s hold for his own so his fingers are around the priest’s wrist again. “The rest of you, sure.” Justin jerks his arm around but Giriko’s ready this time, lets his arm follow the movement so he can maintain his hold, and when the priest swings with his other arm he grabs that too, twisting up and around so Justin winces in pain. “But your face is off-limits.” He’s got him, he knows he does, Justin’s not strong enough to break free without the element of surprise and he’s stepping in too close for the priest to get any traction. Giriko grins, adds pressure to Justin’s arm, and opens his mouth to demand surrender.

Justin snaps his head forward. This close Giriko doesn’t have time to react before his forehead collides with the chainsaw’s nose, just under the metal strip across the bridge. There is a burst of pain, white starbursts in Giriko’s vision, and the chainsaw gasps in pain and drops his hold, reeling backward as his nose gushes blood.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he groans. “You fucking  _cheat_! That was playing  _dirty_!”

Justin shakes his arm out and grins bright. “I have to play dirty to win with you,” he says. “Besides, I never said I wasn’t going to hit your face.” He tips his head to the side consideringly and bites his lower lip. “ _I_  think you look quite fetching covered in your own blood.”

“You still think you’re going to  _win_?” Giriko drops his hand from his face, spits to clear his mouth from the rush of blood from his nose. “I’m  _serious_  now.”

“You weren’t before?” Justin asks, and then they both close again. Giriko kicks when Justin tries to hit him again, deciding that staying well clear of the priest’s forehead is the best decision at this point, but then Justin follows his lead and snaps a foot out towards his shoulder. The impact lands atop the rising bruise from the priest’s first hit and rocks Giriko back more from pain than the force itself, but then he predicts Justin’s feint and slams his foot solidly into the blond’s solar plexus. Justin falls back, gasping uselessly for breath, and Giriko follows, mouth full of the taste of his own blood and veins full of furious adrenaline. Justin looks up as he approaches, eyes wide as he struggles to breathe, and Giriko shoves into him bodily, throwing his whole weight behind his shoulder so the priest topples back and hits the ground hard.

Giriko’s on him before the blond can move, dropping down to straddle Justin’s hips with his full weight. Justin is still having trouble taking a breath, and although he swings at Giriko the chainsaw catches his fist and shoves his arm back to the ground before pinning his wrists above his head.

“You’re out,” he declares. “Surrender.”

Justin gasps in a breath, wiggles against Giriko’s weight and hold, and effects no change at all. He shuts his mouth and glares up at Giriko, setting his lips together in clear refusal.

“Look, you little cheat,” Giriko says with remarkable calm. “You’re trapped. There’s no way I’m letting you up and you can’t  _get_  up until I let you. Give in.”

Justin just stares at him unblinkingly, with no sign that he has heard anything Giriko has said. Giriko’s nose is still trickling blood down his throat, and it’s starting to burn, and he growls and reaches down with his free hand to close his fingers around Justin’s throat.

“ _Surrender_ ,” he says, enunciating every syllable. Justin glares at him, his eyes a silent taunt, and Giriko shifts his hand so he can press his thumb against the priest’s windpipe. He can feel the give under the pressure, can see the flicker of eyelashes as Justin blinks, but there’s no change in that gaze otherwise.

“Fuck you,” he offers, and presses harder, brings his weight down into his arm so he closes off the priest’s breathing entirely. Justin’s mouth comes open, Giriko can feel his throat working as he tries to breathe, but his eyes are focused over Giriko’s head and he’s pulling against the chainsaw’s hold on his wrists like he’s still going to get free. Giriko growls, a low wordless sound of frustration, and stays where he is and keeps his hand tight around Justin’s throat.

There’s a moment of question, when Justin pulls hard enough to twist one of his wrists free and swings at Giriko’s face, but the chainsaw turns aside to avoid the blow and Justin gives up on punching to grab at a handful of Giriko’s bloodstained shirt. Giriko looks down at the priest’s wide blue eyes, the panic rising under the color and the shift of his throat as he tries to breathe for air that won’t come, and he sucks in a breath as panicked as the priest’s movements and says, “For  _fuck’s_  sake, Justin, just  _surrender_!”

Justin stares at him for a moment longer, and Giriko thinks he’s going to actually pass out before he gives in. Then he tips his chin down in a nod, lets his hold on shirt go, and goes utterly limp under Giriko’s hands. Giriko lets go immediately, both his hold at Justin’s throat and the wrist still clenched in his fingers, and Justin gasps for air and lies still but for frantic gulps of air.

Giriko stays where he is on the priest’s hips, hands open at his sides, and tries very hard to look less frenzied than he feels. After a few minutes Justin’s breathing is back to a normal pace; the priest inhales deep, and exhales slow, and pushes himself up to his elbows. Giriko looks to his throat, knows without seeing them that there’ll be fingerprints there in a few hours, and licks his lips without meaning to.

Justin laughs weakly. “I guess you did win.”

“Yeah.” Giriko glances up to his eyes and has to look away from the sparkle under the blue. “Why --” He can’t finish the question.

Justin braces himself and angles his hips so he slides his legs free of Giriko’s weight before he leans forward into the chainsaw’s personal space. Giriko doesn’t pull back, just watches him come until the priest’s mouth is right up against the corner of his own.

“Thanks,” Justin smiles, and his tongue comes out to trail over the edge of Giriko’s lip. When he pulls back he’s got the chainsaw’s blood on his mouth; he licks it away as Giriko watches, catches the chainsaw watching him and grins, lopsided and shadowed.

It’s not until Justin stands and his sweatpants catch on the outline of his erection that Giriko realizes how hard  _he_ is, although from the way Justin lets his gaze linger on the front of the chainsaw’s jeans the priest was definitely aware.

“I’m going to take a shower,” he announces, turning away, and Giriko opens his mouth to protest before he goes on. “You should really wash up yourself. You’re  _covered_  in blood.”

Giriko gapes at Justin’s back for a minute. Then his mouth angles into a grin and he takes a breath before getting to his feet to follow the priest out of the room.


	2. Mirror

Justin’s head is still swimming with the rush of temporary oxygen deprivation by the time he gets to the bathroom. His body is starting to ache, swelling starting against his throat where Giriko’s fingers were pressing and chest so sore from the chainsaw’s kick that it hurts to breathe, but his tongue tastes like blood and the lingering euphoria is overriding the pain, or at least turning it into excitement instead of hurt.

He doesn’t turn around, although he can hear Giriko’s footsteps down the hallway behind him as he goes, and doesn’t look up until he gets to the bathroom and stops in front of the mirror. Giriko comes up behind him, stands over his shoulder so their eyes meet in their reflections. There is blood all across the chainsaw’s face, smeared from where he swiped at it with the back of his hand and splattered across the collar of his shirt. That’s going to stain, Justin notes absently, but he’s not looking a lot better. The marks of fingers are starting to show up on his throat already, rising a dim blue under the skin, and his mouth is red from Giriko’s blood. When he lifts his shirt carefully there’s no sign of the kick Giriko landed, at least not yet, but he winces when he tries touching the location and stops investigating.

Giriko is watching him when he looks back up, eyes lingering against the skin exposed by his raised shirt. When Justin drops the fabric the chainsaw’s gaze comes up higher, but then it stalls on the shadow at his neck. He can see Giriko’s throat work as the chainsaw swallows before the other man steps in, close enough that his hip brushes against Justin’s.

“That’s going to bruise,” he says unnecessarily, and he brings his hand up around to brush light over the marks. It’s the wrong hand, at this angle, but the touch lingers too long anyway, and Justin can see Giriko trying to line his fingers up with the faint darkness under his skin. There’s no pressure at all but Justin goes harder anyway at the contact with the bruise-sensitive skin.

Giriko isn’t looking at his face. The chainsaw’s gaze is fixed on the reflection of Justin’s throat in the mirror, bruises and skin and his own fingers, and he is unexpectedly silent, like he has forgotten how to speak entirely. Justin can’t decide where to look, at Giriko’s hand or Giriko’s eyes or Giriko’s mouth, and then his roving eyes go down and decide that the front of the chainsaw’s pants is the best of the available options. The jeans do a better job of disguise than Justin’s thin sweatpants, but Giriko is so hard the outline of his erection is clear even through the denim. Justin reaches out sideways to press his fingers against the tight fabric.

Giriko grunts but doesn’t speak, although his fingers go briefly tighter against Justin’s skin and his eyes flicker up to meet Justin’s in the mirror. They stare at each other for a minute without moving; then Justin blinks and slides his fingers up to slip between the waistband of Giriko’s pants and the chainsaw’s hips, and Giriko shifts his hand from the bruises on Justin’s neck to the less-sensitive skin of his shoulder.

It’s hard for Justin to maneuver his hand until he stops watching himself; the inversion of his vision makes everything strange and backwards, but when he stops looking down and looks at his own reflection, or at the flutter of pleasure over Giriko’s face, it’s much easier to find his way across the familiar lines of stomach and hip down to the hot hardness of the chainsaw’s cock. Giriko breathes in hard through his mouth rather than his bruised nose when Justin trails his fingers against the flushed skin, and then he reaches down with his free hand to undo the button of his jeans to give the blond more maneuverability. With the extra room Justin can invert his hand, wrap his fingers entirely around Giriko’s length, and slide up slow and lingering so Giriko grits his teeth and rocks up into his touch.

It’s thrilling to watch the chainsaw in the mirror; Giriko’s not looking at Justin’s face, either his eyes are shut in concentration or his gaze is lingering against the priest’s hip or neck or shoulder like there’s something worth watching there, so he doesn’t see Justin staring at his face. His skin is all smeared red with blood and it looks like he might have a split lip in addition to the nosebleed, and his teeth are catching at his lower lip and pulling so hard it can’t be anything but painful, but when he closes his eyes his eyelashes are feathery against his cheekbone, and when he looks at Justin’s skin his mouth goes soft with want, and when Justin slides over the head of his cock his lips part and his face goes slack and Justin can’t catch his breath.

Giriko is getting close by the time he looks up. His face is tight with anticipation, focus written into the lines of his forehead and the set of his mouth, and his whole body is curled in over Justin’s hand like he’s half-protecting himself from a blow. But then he does look up, finally, to meet Justin’s gaze, and he catches the blond’s wrist to hold it still.

“Wait,” he says, and Justin does, obeys Giriko without thinking for the first time he can ever recall. The chainsaw slides his hand free before he relinquishes his hold, reaches out to slide his hands against Justin’s hips and pull up. It is a moment before Justin realizes what he wants, another before he lifts his hands so Giriko can pull his shirt free over his head. Then the chainsaw is tossing the fabric aside and staring at Justin’s back. Justin can see his eyes linger in the mirror for a long moment before he touches the blond, leaves a handprint of heat against his hip, and disappears into the other room.

Justin doesn’t move while Giriko is absent. He keeps his hands flat against the counter, and watches the chainsaw’s fingerprints darken on his throat, and then Giriko is coming back in and Justin can watch him instead. He’s wiped off the worst of the blood from his face and left his shirt in the other room, so Justin’s eyes can follow the ripple of muscle across his stomach and shoulders as he moves to stand behind him and the way his arms shift when he slides fingers slippery with promise under the elastic of Justin’s sweatpants. The pants are loose to start, and Justin wiggles obligingly when Giriko shoves; once they clear his erection they pool around his ankles and he steps free of the fabric.

Giriko is watching his cock when he looks up, the brown in his eyes so dark it’s almost black, and when he catches Justin’s eyes he grins wide.

“Like the view?” he asks, and he sounds almost normal again. He reaches down so Justin can feel his fingers sliding against his skin, along his back and down his spine.

“Yes,” Justin offers with strict honesty. “You?”

“Very much,” Giriko says, looking straight at Justin in the mirror as he slides a finger inside the priest. Justin doesn’t say anything, but his eyes flutter in reaction for a moment, and Giriko is grinning again when he opens them.

“Did you like it?” he asks conversationally as he pulls back to push in again deliberately slowly. “My fingers around your throat until you couldn’t breathe?” He’s curling his finger, dragging sensation in the wake of his movements, but that’s not the only thing making Justin’s cock twitch, and from the expression on Giriko’s face he knows it too. “Maybe I should have kept going.” He pulls his hand free, comes back in with two instead of one. Justin breathes out hard as they slide into him but he doesn’t blink. “You weren’t going to surrender, were you?”

Justin doesn’t answer, and Giriko growls, shoves in hard. “ _Were_  you?”

It’s hard to take a breath; Justin has to actively think about filling his lungs before they will obey him, and then when he speaks it’s a whisper. “No. I wasn’t going to.”

Giriko grins, pleasure at a confirmed suspicion. “What  _were_  you going to do?” His hand slides back, pushes back in; he separates his fingers and twists so Justin has to exhale in a rush and take another breath before he can speak.

“I was going to pass out with your fingers around my neck.”

Giriko’s eyebrows comes up and he slides his hand completely free. Justin can’t see what he’s doing, but there’s the sound of metal and the chainsaw’s pants slide free, and he can guess even without that.

“Good plan.” Giriko sounds like he’s on the verge of laughter. He steps in so his body is aligned directly behind Justin’s; the priest stares at him in the mirror. He still has a little blood against his face, red he didn’t quite get off. “Really  _clever_.” He pushes forward so he’s just barely inside; Justin has taken an inhale but now he can’t breathe out from anticipation. “I can see they make ‘em smart at Shibusen.”

Justin exhales all at once in a laugh, so when Giriko thrusts forward there’s no air left for him to gasp and he makes a strange breathless noise of shock. Giriko reaches around in front of them to wrap his fingers around Justin’s cock; in the mirror Justin can see how much bigger Giriko’s arm looks in comparison to his own waist, can see how the chainsaw’s skin looks almost grey against the golden of his own. Giriko doesn’t pull at all, not deliberately, just closes his fingers and lets the residual motion of his own hips rock a minimal amount of friction over Justin.

Justin makes a sound at the back of his throat, leans forward to let his head fall so he can shut his eyes, and Giriko snaps “ _Look_  at me” so hard that Justin’s chin is coming up and his eyes are open before he consciously decides to obey. Giriko is staring at his face, eyes clear and pale under the shifting shadow of his hair, and as Justin watches the chainsaw leans forward to press his chest against Justin’s back and brings his free hand up to lie his fingers against the priest’s throat again.

It’s not a hold, it’s not even quite a threat, more of a promise, and Justin’s mouth comes open so he can gasp for air that suddenly seems very absent. Giriko chokes in response, and when Justin looks at himself he barely recognizes his own face for how dark his eyes are and how desperate his parted lips make him look. He can’t rein it back now, wouldn’t if he could, so he ignores his own expression in favor of watching Giriko’s eyes drift over his image in the mirror and the way the chainsaw’s arms shift as he thrusts forward again.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Giriko says again, and jerks his hand around Justin’s cock so the priest gasps and rocks forward involuntarily. “You’re looking at me like I’m some goddamn god.”

Justin opens his mouth, to laugh a response or maybe to agree, and Giriko’s hold on his throat goes warning-tight. “Don’t say anything,” he grates, and when he shoves forward again it’s hard enough that Justin almost stumbles and he takes a breath and doesn’t try to talk again.

He can see Giriko getting close in their mirrored reflections again, over his shoulder instead of next to him at this angle, and for a second Justin thinks he’s going to carry on this time. But then the chainsaw takes a deep breath, and grits his teeth, and slows down again with restraint that Justin didn’t know he  _had._  He stays slow and steady for a minute, staring at Justin’s shoulders instead of his face, and then the promise-threat of his hand comes through. He shifts his grip in purposefully, and his fingers start to go tight as he starts to deliberately pump his other hand at last.

Justin fights back to urge to take a panicked inhale, keeps breathing as normally as he can even past the increasing pressure on his airway, and he’s so focused on that that he doesn’t move at all in response to Giriko’s hand against his cock, so it is the chainsaw that sets the speed. It’s fast, faster and harder than Justin usually likes himself, but he can see where Giriko is going with this, and when he watches the chainsaw’s separate movements -- the steady, slow pace of his hips, the faster movement of his hand, the careful increase of pressure in his grip -- it’s like watching an artist, all the precision and control that Justin usually sees in himself and almost never in the chainsaw. He’s reminded sharply that Giriko has held his own in full-blown combat with him before, that Giriko  _did_  win their sparring match after all, that just because the chainsaw doesn’t  _choose_  to display patience most of the time doesn’t mean he doesn’t have any. Justin keeps his hands still where they are against the counter, and he can see what breath he can get thrumming with anticipation in his chest, and he knows he’s not going to last long.

Giriko knows too. When Justin looks at his face he’s watching the same anxious tension that the priest is, and when he looks up to meet Justin’s gaze he grins, and tightens his grip, and when Justin tries to breathe there’s no air at all anymore. His body goes desperate but his brain goes languid, filling with heavy pleasure at the surrender of control, and when Giriko thrusts into him and pulls hard at his cock Justin’s mouth comes open in a soundless moan and everything goes white with pleasure for a moment.

Giriko doesn’t let him go until even the aftershocks have passed, until Justin refocuses on the chainsaw’s gaze in the mirror and can feel panic starting to wash into the satisfaction suffusing him. Then he lets his hands go, and Justin gasps for air and has to shut his eyes against the expression on Giriko’s face.

With his mission accomplished Giriko does away with any remaining vestige of patience; he sets his grip against Justin’s hips, pulls the priest back as he angles forward, and by the time Justin has opened his eyes again he’s coming, eyes shut and mouth open so Justin can watch the ripples through his body without an audience for his gaze.

Giriko sighs, and blinks his eyes into focus, and doesn’t look at Justin until he’s loosened his grip and slid free. Then he does, and he laughs like the sound has been startled out of him.

“Seriously, looking at me like that has got to be blasphemous somehow.”

Justin laughs, and turns around so he’s facing the chainsaw directly without the medium of the mirror between them. Giriko leans back in surprise, but his eyes go soft at the edges and Justin’s pretty sure he wasn’t supposed to see the momentary affection in his expression.

“Shut up,” he offers, and reaches out to pull Giriko in against his mouth, and the chainsaw smiles and lets him.


End file.
